


Dartmoor and Morphine

by BalancingProbabilities



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Cynicism, Dartmoor, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Introspection, M/M, Morphine, Nature, Rain, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Reflection, Stream of Consciousness, Substance Abuse, Teenage Sherlock, Teenlock, Trust Issues, cigarette smoking, transcendentalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2335100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalancingProbabilities/pseuds/BalancingProbabilities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now he was sixteen. He went off to venture the valley and ended up in a hollow. It began raining and he found a shallow cave that would keep him dry. He decided to wedge himself in there and watch the rain and the fog defeat the ground; for some reason, watching this energized him. He decided this moment would be even more pleasing if he smoked, so he did. Inhaling the nicotine would be better than any deep breath he would ever take.</p><p>All in all, he was glad he was there. He didn't want to go to his uncle's wedding, no, but he felt safe in that small cave, that would protect him from stupid life-decisions he would face, like the one of marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dartmoor and Morphine

Dartmoor was rainy, cold, and bitter, but Sherlock liked it.

He couldn't really tell you why he liked it. The place was not supposed to make him happy. The only other time he was there was eight years ago. During that trip, it was sunny and he was happy; he wasn't aware that life would be so frigid. 

Two years later, he was told his dog, Redbeard, was sent to live with a family in this valley; the dog was growing old. 

At thirteen, he found out Redbeard never went to Dartmoor; he had been put down. His older brother, Mycroft, still mocked him for believing that "your-dog-went-to-live-in-the-valley" lie.

Now he was sixteen. He went off to venture the valley and ended up in a hollow. It began raining and he found a shallow cave that would keep him dry. He decided to wedge himself in there and watch the rain and the fog defeat the ground; for some reason, watching this energized him. He decided this moment would be even more pleasing if he smoked, so he did. Inhaling the nicotine would be better than any deep breath he would ever take.

All in all, he was glad he was there. He didn't want to go to his uncle's wedding, no, but he felt safe in that small cave, that would protect him from stupid life-decisions he would face, like the one of marriage.

Getting married?

Why?

He fell in love with Victor Trevor two years ago. Sherlock only died on a metaphorical level. Victor had been the only person who ever understood him. Yes, Sherlock had other friends, but those interactions were usually a bit awkward; kids always talked about petty things, and Sherlock always made everything philosophical and existential. Victor could fit in with the other kids, but he preferred to be himself, which was like Sherlock.

Victor never knew Sherlock loved him, nor did he know Sherlock wanted to be more than friends, but they fought as frequently as an old married couple would; they were an old married couple.

But they didn't fight exactly like an old married couple; an old married couple wouldn't fight about trust. Victor knew Sherlock trusted no one. His friends always seemed to drift away from him, just as his brother and his father did.He always was jealous of Victor's girlfriends; though Victor reassured him they would always be friends, Sherlock's jealousy came out from time to time.

Sometimes, he thought Victor loved him, too; he told Sherlock he meant much more to him than any girl could. Sometimes, Sherlock thought Victor was just afraid to ask him out and risk their friendship.

Victor decided his friendship with Sherlock wasn't worth it. The "jealousy" part didn't bother him; the "lack of trust" part did.

He cried every day for about six weeks after that last fight, but he eventually stopped crying. He realized no one had his back and no one would ever understand him, and that gave him reason to stop wanting to be understood, to stop wanting to fit in. Sometimes, he felt nothing, and that felt good.

He then started taking morphine. He felt that feeling of nothingness more and more, and it was bliss. As he felt that nothing, he thought, "Victor can go fuck himself; love can go fuck itself." Sherlock now only loved himself. The feeling of nothingness became his everything.

He started popping pills every night, and his grades started slipping. His mother noticed his highs, and Mycroft found his stash. Sherlock watched as his brother flushed his peace of mind down the toilet.

Even though, after much yelling, he ended up punching Mycroft that night, he knew his older brother did the right thing. Sherlock knew he was going to emotionally struggle without the pills, but he needed to earn the best grades; he needed to make sure the world knew he was smart.

The Friday before they left for Dartmoor, Sherlock bought some morphine; he didn't think he would be able to survive the trip without pills. The truth was that Sherlock didn't need the pills, but as he sat in his little cave, he decided to take one anyway. Watching the rain while high was his everything in that moment.

The wedding took place twenty-four hours later. It ended up not being so bad. He was high and no one noticed. Perhaps that was the best part; he was alone and high.


End file.
